Forgive Me, Friends
by Mellybean23
Summary: By some miracle, Enjolras survives the barricade. However, Joly will not tell him how. With the preservation of his life a mystery, Enjolras sets out to discover how he got to where he is and where to go next. Eponine joins him as she tries to fall out of love with Marius and break away from her father. E/E, E/R, J/M/B, etc. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** By some miracle, Joly saved him. And by some miracle, she, too, is saved—in more ways than one. The barricade has fallen, but life continues as Enjolras and Eponine try to recover from the fight that nearly claimed their lives.

**Characters:** Enjolras, Eponine, Joly, Musichetta, Marius, Cosette, Les Amis.

**Word count:** 1,873

**Universe:** A mixture of the book, musical, and movie. Much of the characterization stems from the book while plot points follow the movie/musical.

**Warnings: **PTSD, depression, suicidal thoughts/actions, mentions of homosexuality, mentions of abuse/rape, substance abuse, death, religious imagery/allusions/practice (to some extent they're Catholics), and other things. I'll make a specific warning if necessary.

* * *

**1.**

Enjolras opened his eyes very quickly and suddenly, only to snap them shut just as fast. The intensity of the bright whiteness that surrounded him was overwhelming. Slowly, he tried opening them again—this time, with success. He cautiously scanned his new surroundings. Most of the furnishings were white, including the walls, ceiling, what he could see of the rug, and his bedding. The floor, chair, and bookshelf were all made of dark wood. Enjolras couldn't make out any titles of the books, but most looked quite thick. A light breeze drifted through an open window. He couldn't hear much other than a ringing in his ears, but he could make out a rare blue sky. Everything seemed neatly kept and in order. It was a far cry from the state of his own apartment, Combeferre's, or any hospital he had ever seen.

_I'm dead_, he realized.

_I'm dead._

_I'm dead._

His head shot up and he groaned out loud as he slammed it back into his pillows. The room around him began to spin and blur. He heard the sound of the head board hitting the wall behind it. The door swung open and a man and woman rushed into the room.

"Mary, Peter, tell my friends I am so, so sorry," Enjolras whispered as his eyes fluttered shut. Before he fully lost consciousness, he heard a familiar voice speak.

* * *

When Enjolras next woke, it was darker in the white room. The only light came from a candle on his bedside table. From the light of the candle, he saw a young woman with long brown hair sitting in the chair next to his bed. She read a book, though her expression made her seem deep in thought about something horrible. She seemed on the verge of tears and trying to hide it. Though Enjolras's only experience with women came from his mother and few cousins, he was still a gentleman and he felt obliged to help (although another part of his brain wondered if God had created some sort of test to gauge his worth).

"Mary," he croaked, as he lifted a shaking hand.

The woman looked up and gasped. "Oh, no! Monsieur Enjolras you must go back to sleep before you hurt yourself! Joly sad that you hit your head very hard and even I know that it could be very serious," the woman said frantically as she tried to push his hand back down.

Enjolras paused. "What do you mean by Joly? Wh- what is going on? I'm dead, aren't I, Mary?"

The woman gave a slight shake of her head. "Monsieur, I think that you should go back to sleep now. It can be explained in the morning," she whispered.

"Just tell me. Please tell me. Where am I? Where are my friends?"

The woman didn't say anything, but her grip on Enjolras's hand tightened and she began to push him back into his pillows.

"Tell me!" he said more forcefully. "Where are my friends? Where am i?"

"You're safe, okay. That's all that matters, isn't it?" she whispered as her eyes began to water. Enjolras, however, paid no attention to that.

"Tell me what has become of my friends!" he demanded. "You are an angel of the Lord if not Mary. Surely you know!"

"Monsieur, you need to go back to sleep!"

Enjolras sat up and tried to brush the woman's hands aside. Despite the way the room spun around him, he was determined to make it to the door and discover what was going on. He was swinging his feet out of the bed amid the woman's protests when the door opened and Joly entered the room.

Enjolras nearly fainted.

"What is going on?" he whispered as he collapsed back onto his bed.

"You're alive," Joly said simply.

"And the others?" Enjolras asked, dreading the answer he felt coming but desperate to know for certain what had become of his friends.

"I'm not sure. No one is. But…" Joly trailed off.

"We can guess what has happened to them," the woman (who Enjolras realized must be Musichetta) said solemnly.

"But-but did anyone else…" Enjolras's voice caught in his throat.

"We're only sure about you and another."

"Who?" Enjolras asked.

"I believe you used to refer to her as Marius's shadow," Joly remarked.

Enjolras was confused for a split second until the image of a young boy—no more than thirteen—weeping over the emancipated body of his sister entered his mind.

"Gavroche's sister," he muttered.

"Yes, that's her," Joly confirmed.

"You wouldn't happen to know her name, would you? Whenever she's awake, I just call her Marie," said Musichetta.

"Haven't you asked?" said Enjolras.

"Yes," Musichetta replied, "but she doesn't say very much. Mostly she just cries a bit or wanders around the flat."

"I recall it beginning with an 'E'. Perhaps Elaine or Emeline," Enjolras remarked, sifting through his few memories of the girl.

"Though I do seem to recall Marius referring to her once or twice with the nickname of 'Ponine," Joly added. Enjolras rolled his eyes at his friend's attempt at extending the conversation. It was obvious there was something Joly was trying to avoid. Enjolras could almost laugh at his fear. Then he realized what the topic he was avoiding was.

If the others were alive they would have hid out somewhere safe and with someone they trusted. Who did Bossuet trust more than Joly and Musichetta?

No one.

The reality of what had occurred hit him like a load of bricks. If he hadn't been sitting down already, he would have collapsed with the weight of it all.

They were dead. All of his friends were dead. Oh sure, there was a slight chance that they could have escaped like he and Joly had somehow managed to, but what were the actual chances of that happening? In fact, it was a wonder that he and Joly had managed to make it out alive. The entire event had been a disaster.

_A disaster he had orchestrated. _

Enjolras swallowed. His thoughts began to swirl around him. He couldn't focus. All he could see was Grantaire, the stupid drunk, wobbling over to him as the soldiers raised their guns. All he could see was the face of Gavroche as Coufeyrac sobbed over his body. And all he could hear were gunshots.

"Enjolras—are you okay?" Joly asked. Enjolras looked up to see his friend holding his arm. Not far behind him was Musichetta, looking just as worried.

Enjolras tried to smile, but knew that Joly and Musichetta would not be fooled. He hoped, though, that the two of them would catch on and leave him with his thoughts. Thankfully, Joly and Musichetta's complicated relationship with Bossuet seemed to have taught them the art of tact, so they shuffled out quickly, requesting that he find them should he need anything.

He didn't think he would.

* * *

The open window had proved to be quite the convenience for Enjolras. It opened up onto a low hanging roof that had a ladder beneath it. Even in his weakened state, Enjolras had found it quite easy to escape the confines of the house. The climb was not kind to his weary legs, but he stumbled along no worse than the average drunk. Besides, the cover of the darkness provided enough of a disguise should Joly or Musichetta happen to be out.

He wandered through the streets avoiding ever passersby who came his way. Occasionally a woman would call out to him, but he would just turn the other way. There was a time when he would have helped them, he recalled; a time when he would have given each a portion of his heavy purse so that they could buy bread or find a place to sleep for the night. He had once gone out of his way to help men and women and children alike. He had spoken for the people.

And how had they repaid him?

His mind began to swirl again and he found himself on a bridge. It was low, close to the water. And the water was swirling like his mind.

He stared at the water—black and deep and hopeless—and in it, he swore he could see his fallen friends. There was Jean and Marius and Coufeyrac and Combeferre, all staring up at him and laughing merrily at some joke of the past.

He had led them to their deaths. Hey no longer lived nor spoke nor ate because of him. They would never see the light of day again nor feel the chill of the night. Their parents and their families would be mourning, he realized. They would be mourning what their children had lost.

Marius, the lovesick fool, would never marry that girl of his. Coufeyrac would never entertain his—or anyone else's—offspring with the wild stories of his romantics escapades. Combeferre would never become a doctor. No woman would ever hold another of Feuilliy's fans.

And Grantaire. That idiotic drunk who had made Enjolras' life hell so often. The realization that he would no longer be a thorn in his side made Enjolras gasp for air as he leaned over the railing, gazing into the Seine. His heart pounded in his chest. It started to become hard to breathe.

"I can't go on," he whispered as he stared at the murky waters below him.

He began to climb onto the railing, not caring who saw. Suicide was eternal damnation, but so was murder—and he had murdered every single one of his friends in a single try. Quickly, he recited the Lord's Prayer in his head, hoping that there would be mercy in his actions.

He took a deep breath and prepared to jump.

"Monsieur! Monsieur, you can't," a woman yelled.

The cry was just enough to cause Enjolras to lose his balance and fall onto the pavement. Quickly, he attempted to regain his footing, but wound up collapsing at the feet of none other than Marius' shadow as she lent down to help him.

She was a familiar sight and he saw the recognition in her face. Next came confusion.

"Monsieur Joly said that you were ill, though. He said that even if you woke you would not be able to stand, none the less walk, for a week, Monsieur…" she trailed off.

"Enjolras. That's what most call me," he said.

"But how did you get out? How did you even walk? And why…" she stopped, realizing what she was about to say. Her cheeks flushed red.

"Never mind that Madame…" he trailed off, realizing that, despite what he had told Joly and Musichetta, he did not actually recall her name.

"Eponine. It's just Eponine, Monsieur," she mumbled, looking embarrassed. Enjolras decided not to press the matter of address, and instead focus on the problem at hand.

"Right, Eponine. You're out of the house, too, so I don't see why—"

"Do not worry, Monsieur Enjolras. I will not speak a word of this to another soul," Eponine promised. "Do you need help finding your way back?" she added.

Enjolras nodded and Eponine took him by the arm, leading the way back to Joly's flat.


	2. Chapter 2

**This is a it of a filler chapter; I apologize.**

**Word Count:** 2,100

**Warnings:** None for this chapter.

* * *

**2.**

Enjolras lay on his bed, wide awake. The clock in the hallway chimed, signaling that it was a quarter past one in the morning. He remembered returning around eleven and Joly insisting that he return to bed as soon as the shock of him reentering the apartment had worn off. Musichetta had managed to sit him and Eponine down for a quick supper (bread and jam) before Joly had dragged the two of the back to their respective rooms.

Enjolras was not well versed in social customs. However, he suspected that few people knew (or would admit to knowing, for that matter) what to do or say to the person who prevents one's own suicide. He supposed that the polite thing to do would be to thank Eponine. After all, she had prevented his death and that was the custom among most regarding such affairs. However, she had also thwarted one of his plans. Typically, that entailed berating and anger.

He groaned and turned over, only to jolt back to his original position because of a huge burst of pain that shot through his left side. He knew that he shouldn't, but he tentatively moved his fingers along his abdomen, searching for the cause of the pain. His fingers quickly found a large bandage and, upon removing the bandage, a small hole covered with dried blood and other fluids. He had no idea why he hadn't noticed it before; he could only blame the excitement of the day.

For a brief, fleeting moment he wondered what it was. What could have caused a hole like that to appear in his side?

Then the realization dawned on him: a bullet.

A burst of pain shot through his head. He saw a scene flash before his eyes: members of the National Guard, a broken window, and a man lying on the ground. But as soon as it had appeared, the image had gone, leaving only confusion. Enjolras couldn't tell if it had been a real memory, or just a moment of fleeting insanity.

* * *

Eponine sat in her bed room, which was really just the entrance hall to Joly's flat with a fully made up mattress shoved into it. Joly and Musichetta had offered her the couch, naturally, but she had refused it. Enjolras was in the master bed room and Joly's spare was filled with things that had belonged to someone called Bossuet. Eponine had been in there, originally. She had assumed that Joly and Musichetta would reside in there once she vacated the room, but they had tried to insist that she take it. However, sleeping with a dead man's things made her incredibly uncomfortable.

That is how she wound up on a mattress in the entrance hall while Musichetta and Joly cried together in the living room.

She didn't mind. She'd been here for about a week—three days fast asleep, two confined to a bed, and a few days wandering around the apartment and garden outside, lost in thought. In fact, Enjolras's waking was the only relatively exciting thing to have happened to her since the barricade, and she could barely remember any of that.

However, Marius's voice still drifted across her mind nearly every moment she was conscious and, more often than not, while she was asleep as well. It was always the same words, too: The reassurance that her errands had not been in vain was all she would have needed to die in peace, along with the knowledge that her dear Marius would soon follow her.

That was why she had been so upset when she had first waked. But Enjolras's survival instilled some hope in her tired body. If he was still alive, then perhaps there would be hope for her Marius. She had already checked around his apartment, of course. She had seen no sign of him or her family, for that matter. Something about their disappearance unnerved her, but she was far more concerned with Marius.

She was determined to find him, no matter the cost. She knew that he was not in good relations with most of his family, so it would be a useless (and most likely embarrassing) endeavor to seek out his grandfather. But where else would he go?

A negative, pessimistic part of her brain kept repeating the answer, but she refused to believe that he was with Cosette. After all, he had promised his love to her at the barricade. There was no possible way for him to deny that. He loved her and the whole barricade knew it.

He must be as desperate to find her as she was to find him, she thought.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

"Joly, do you have the slightest idea about what has become of our friends? I cannot remember much about the night the barricade fell, and I would be most grateful if you could fill in some holes, so to speak. I understand that this may be difficult for you-"

"Monsieur Enjolras, is somebody in there with you?" Eponine's voice rang out from the other side of the bathroom door. Enjolras winced. He hadn't realized that he was speaking loud enough to be overheard. He would blame the ringing in his ears for now.

"No, no, Eponine. I- I'm just practicing for a speech…" he mumbled.

"Well, it might interest you that Monsieur Joly and Mademoiselle Musichetta left before you woke."

Enjolras, unfortunately, was shaving when Eponine informed him of this. The result wasn't pretty and he could hear Eponine's giggle as he swore loudly after nicking his chin.

"I do not believe I have ever heard you say such things, Monsieur," she laughed.

Enjolras was growing impatient.

"Yes, yes, well, I won't be much longer, so how about you find a way to entertain yourself besides standing on the other side of the door," he said sternly. "And you can stop calling me 'Monsieur'; Enjolras works fine."

He heard nothing from the other side of the door, so he assumed that the girl had found some way to busy herself. Meanwhile, he was trying to think up a new way to get the information he needed. Surely Joly could not be the only witness to the fall of the barricade to have survived! There must be someone—a street urchin, a prostitute, a starving family—who had witnessed the event. And anyone would talk for a price.

* * *

As soon as Enjolras left the bathroom, Eponine raced in. he could hear her emptying the water from the basin and pouring new bath water. He rolled his eyes, wondering what she could possibly thin was worth making this much of a fuss over.

He strolled into the kitchen, looking for something to eat. For the first time since he had woken up, he felt hungry. There was a bit of jam on the table and a few slices of bread were on the counter. He grabbed a plate and sat down, relishing in every bite he took. He'd forgotten how wonderful something as simple and jam and bread could taste. In fact, he felt as though he'd forgotten the very concept of taste.

A crumpled newspaper dated about three days prior lay on the table. He figured that keeping up with the news wasn't a bad idea by any means, so he picked it up and began to read. Front page, naturally, was a report of the failed revolution. Unfortunately, no names were mentioned other than a missing Inspector Javert and few captains who had died in the skirmish. He continued to flip through the paper, looking for any names he knew or hints of government reform. There was nothing other than a few vague business reports, a couple of obituaries, and news of disturbances in the Americas. England had passed a new act that reformed their electing system. Battles with the Natives were continuing in the United States and many of the colonies.

He was about to throw the paper away when a small block of writing caught his eye in the public announcements section.

"_Announcing the engagement of Monsieur Marius Pontmercy, son of Colonel George Pontmercy and grandson of M. Gillenormand, to Mademoiselle Euphrasie Fauchelevent. The couple will be wed in early August._"

His breath caught in his throat. Marius was not only alive, but also engaged to be married to that Cosette girl (at least he assumed that it was the Cosette girl. Marius was quite frightened of women, so the image of him with multiple "beloveds" was quite humorous). Initially, Enjolras believed he could coax something out of Marius about the night the barricade fell, but he seemed to recall him collapsing quite early in the fray.

Well, he should at least stop by and bestow his best wishes upon the happy couple. Except he had no idea where Marius lived or if he was still living there. He had probably scattered like the rest of the Les Amis. Perhaps Eponine knew where he was. She was in love with him, after all.

Enjolras began to choke as soon as his brain made that connection.

Eponine was in love with a man who was going to be married to another woman. He might not be well versed in the workings of love, but he knew that a confrontation between the three would not be a pretty sight.

"Eponine…" he called tentatively.

"Yes?" she replied, her voice muffled through the door.

"Can you, by chance, read?" he asked.

"Um… yes, yes I can. Not very well, though. Just well enough for me to find my way around Paris, really," Eponine replied, sounding confused. Enjolras was thankful, though. She probably hadn't picked up the paper, nonetheless caught sight of Marius's engagement announcement.

"Why do you want to know, Enjolras?" she called.

"I—um… I feel as though everyone should know how to read," he stammered, unprepared for her question.

"Are you offering to teach me?" she asked, sounding strangely excited.

Enjolras would probably regret what he was about to say, but he didn't really have any other options at the moment.

"Yes, I am, Eponine. You should know how to read and how to read well," he said.

The door burst open and she rushed out. She was wearing a dress that she must have borrowed from Musichetta. It was far too big for her emancipated frame. Enjolras could still see the bones in her arms, neck, and face. He could probably count her ribs if they weren't covered. She was missing a tooth on the far left corner of her mouth and her hair was not cut evenly. However, her green eyes were bright with excitement and her hair was brushed out, for once. She looked clean; not too healthy, but clean, at least. On the whole, she looked nice enough. One would not think her homeless if they passed her on the streets.

"Thank you, Monsieur Enjolras! Thank you so much!" she cried as she flung her arms around his neck. Enjolras awkwardly patted her shoulders, praying that she would let go soon.

"It's quite alright. I imagine that I'll have plenty of time on my hands now," Enjolras said. He meant that while he was recovering, he would be able to teach Eponine. But, as he thought about it more, he realized that, unless he could create a plausible alibi, he would likely be thrown out of school. There was no _proof_ that he had orchestrated—or even been a part of—the uprisings, but his professors were not stupid and he hadn't been to class in at least a week, despite already completing his exams for the semester.

While he thought about this, Eponine had let go of him and was heading for the door.

"Wait, what are you doing?" he cried, dreading her answer.

"I'm going to go look for Marius, of course! I've got to find him," she replied.

"No, he's—he's going to be married, Eponine," Enjolras said softly.

A strange expression appeared on her face.

"But—but he said that he loved me," she asked. Enjolras nodded. She looked thoughtful for a moment, but her face lit up with joy. "Then he must have realized that I was here all along! He cannot wait any longer! Oh, I must go!" she cried, as she rushed out the door too quickly for Enjolras to follow.

Enjolras groaned and tried to stand, but his legs gave out almost immediately.

_It is better that way_, he thought. _She has to find out the truth eventually_.


End file.
